


Ten Years Gone

by archeolatry



Series: Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel's Mixtape, Coda, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s07e16 Out With The Old, Gen, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 07 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archeolatry/pseuds/archeolatry
Summary: Dean's mind wanders while the Impala does 75MPH.______________________"Neither hide or feather had been found of Cas. They were being chased by flesh-eating monsters led by a billionaire mastermind, and the only things he had on his side were time and borax. And Sam, of course, although Lucifer was whispering in his ear every waking moment.You know, normal stuff."





	Ten Years Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place between 7.16 "Out With the Old" and 7.17 "The Born Again Indentity".

In some of his weaker moments, Dean Winchester missed cuddling.

Not that he hadn’t been laid since Lisa; there were lots of small towns with lots of pretty young barmaids and diner waitresses. Hell, he’d just celebrated the end of a vengeful spirit case with a pretty blonde sorority girl named Maddie.

She drank him halfway under the table and rode him like a mechanical bull at the state fair. It was a good time, but damned if it didn’t make him feel old. He didn’t recognize the pin-ups on her walls or the songs she wanted to bang to. She also shuffled him out the door at 9am for her Biology Lab, his head still buzzing with tequila. No breakfast, no goodbye kiss. 

He’d gotten a wink from this morning’s waitress, too. Cute brunette, nice tits. Name tag said Lizzie. She gave him the up-and-down that he’d seen a hundred times, looking him over like he was a slab of beef hot off the grill. Dean could only smile and accept the compliment; he was seeing double up until his second cup of coffee. 

He reclined deep against the lush pleather seating of the Impala, wide-awake, his mind free to wander as he took the Meridian Highway at 75 miles per hour. Sam had fallen into a drooling sleep in the passenger seat, lulled by the smooth road and the anodyne voices of national public radio. With one hand on the wheel, he leaned over and fished in the glove box for a cassette-- _any_ cassette. Now that his head wasn’t throbbing, he couldn’t take another minute of reporting on cheese prices in Europe. He popped it into the deck without a second glance.

Led Zeppelin, he noted approvingly. 

_“Then as it was, then again may it be  
Though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea”..._

An easy case and a good drunk had been enough to keep any serious thoughts at bay; now, practically alone in the Impala, with nothing but straight Kansas road ahead of him, they had finally caught him.

Frank was gone. As in, _**gone**_ gone. No forwarding address, no body, nothing. Neither hide or feather had been found of Cas. They were being chased by flesh-eating monsters led by a billionaire mastermind, and the only things he had on his side were time and borax. And Sam, of course, although Lucifer was whispering in his ear every waking moment.

You know, normal stuff.

_“Changes fill my time, baby, that’s all right with me  
In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be”... _

Lisa had listened to all that he’d told her, but he didn’t think she ever fully understood. And how could she, really? Hell was a concept to her, not a place. He could have told her there was such a thing as the Loch Ness Monster and she would have believed him. But to _know_ what he knew...to have seen the things he’d seen...

It wasn’t even Hell that invaded his dreams on bad nights; it was Ben, who he’d loved like a son, with a demon knife at his throat. It was Emma--his own flesh and blood--lying dead on a motel floor with Sam’s bullet in her chest. They were both just kids; kids he couldn’t protect. The Hell of his mind was full of people that he couldn’t protect, gazing at him with dead eyes. 

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it. He tried not to dwell on things. Be fine ‘til the end of the week, like Frank had said. Make himself smile. 

Damned if he didn’t miss Lisa’s body next to his, though. Not even in a sexy way. Just the simple luxury of having another human being at arm’s reach. Someone who knew when it was their turn to be the big spoon; who you didn’t feel embarrassed to cry in front of. Someone who knew how you took your coffee. Someone to kiss goodbye. Someone to worry when you didn’t call. 

At least she never had to worry about him again. Cas had seen to that.

_“Did you ever really need somebody  
And really need ‘em bad”..._

Dean found himself wishing--praying?--that Cas could appear in the back seat. He could have used the company.

Sam seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and Dean didn’t dare disturb him. They’d exhausted every avenue of conversation trying to keep Sam awake: stories from Sam’s college days, tales of hunts with Dad, conquests and cases... Cas would have listened and asked questions. Not about demons or monsters, but what a ‘toga party’ was. And they would have laughed and told him, and Cas would have gotten that squinty, confused look on his face--like a dog being shown a card trick. Hell, him and Sam could have spent the entire ride explaining the plot of “Animal House” to Cas point by point and not brought up demons once. 

Guilt bit at his stomach. He had never actually thanked Cas for all he’d done. “Even when you save people, they won't always thank you for it,” Bobby had told him. Cas had saved Dean plenty. Maybe he’d just kind of assumed it was Cas' ‘thing’; his job description as an angel. “I’m not here to perch on your shoulder,” he had said, but he’d always been there when they needed him. Had Dean's life been so extraordinary that he just _assumed_ an angel would always be there to answer his prayers? 

He had an extraordinary friend; one whose life was as fraught and complicated as his own. How could he have not have said something?

Cas’ trench coat was still in the back seat, clean and folded and waiting. They would find him. They _would_ find him. 

_“Taste your love along the way  
See your feathers preen”..._

Why did so damn many Zeppelin songs talk about wings and feathers and Heaven and all that kind of crap? Stairway was a given, but he kept noticing it more and more these days. It was enough to make him wish there were more songs about Hobbits.

And why did there have to be a naked angel on the label anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> "What is this naked angel you speak of?"
> 
> Why, it's the logo of Led Zeppelin's record label, [Swan Song](http://ultimateclassicrock.com/files/2014/05/swansong.jpg).


End file.
